Ben walked some twenty miles from the cabin before he began headhunting. It was going to snow again that night, so he wasn’t worried about tracks.
He drew close to the smoke that made up the western edge of the outlaws’ perimeter and squatted down, uncasing his binoculars. Very carefully and slowly, he scanned the area that lay before him. He picked up the movements of a few men. He focused his binoculars and brought the men in closer. They were walking with their heads down, searching the snow for sign.
Ben eased back into the deep timber, watching the men walk through the small valley. He was careful to shield his field glasses so the sun would not bounce off the lenses, giving away his position. He watched them draw closer, than fan out, several hundred yards between each man.
He waited by the edge of the forest. He was not aware of it, but he was smiling.
The man working the most eastern area drew closer. He was talking to himself. Obviously, he was not happy with his job.
“Son of a bitch,” the man muttered, his voice carrying to Ben. “I’m gonna enjoy watchin’ Jake nail that bastard to a cross. I hope it takes him days to die. Jesus! it’s cold out here.”
So Jake has plans to crucify me, Ben thought. I don’t think I’d like that very much. I’ll just see if I can’t put a crimp in Big Jake’s plans.
The outlaw came to the woods’ edge and stood for a moment. The deep timber gave him some relief from the cold winds singing around the valley.
“I sure would like to take a piss,” the outlaw muttered. “But I’m afraid my pecker would freeze and fall off.”
Then he cussed Ben Raines loud and long.
Ben hoped he enjoyed cursing him, for it was to be the last sound he would ever hear.
Ben was silent and deadly with his knife, slicing the man’s throat with the heavy, razor-sharp blade. He dragged the man into the timber and dropped him in the snow, his warm, pumping blood staining the whiteness scarlet.
“Halp!” Ben hollered, disguising his voice. “Halp! I’m stuck, boys, Halp!”
“Leroy, you stupid ox!” a man’s call drifted over the valley. “What the shit is the matter with you now?”’
“Caught my foot in a wedge!” Ben hollered. “Come help me.”
“All right, all right! Just don’t pee on yourself. We’re a-comin”dis”
Ben heard the man say, “You two keep on a-lookin’. Simmons, you and Bobby come with me. Let’s see what that dumbass’s got hisself into now.”
The three outlaws approached Ben’s position, walking clumsily through the snow.
“Leroy, you spastic bastard!” the point man said. “Sing out. Where is you?”
“Ooohhh!” Ben groaned.
“You hurt bad, Leroy?”
“Ooohhh!”
“Hang on, boy, we’s comin’.”
The point man was the first to step into the dimly lit timber, and for a few seconds, he was unable to see. Ben took him out silently, plunging his knife into the man’s chest, feeling the blade grind and grit through and past bone, driving into the man’s heart.
Standing up, Ben reversed the dead man’s sawed-off shotgun and used it for a club. He smashed the butt into one man’s face, hearing bones crunch and splinter under the impact. Before the third man could unsling his weapon, Ben shattered the man’s skull with the butt of the shotgun, hitting him so hard the butt broke off.
Ben dropped the broken shotgun, grabbed his .30-06, and uncapped the scope lenses. Quickly, he sighted an outlaw and pulled the trigger. Without bothering to see if he hit the man-Ben knew he didn’t miss, not at this distance-Ben had sighted the last man in and had downed him before the echoing report of the rifle had died away.
Ben slipped quietly back into the timber, heading for the next plume of smoke. He was not aware of it, but his smile was still locked in place, giving him a death’s-head look.
A look of hard-taken revenge.
Jake’s head jerked up at the sounds of the gunfire. A tiny bit more of confidence ebbed within the man. He somehow knew the shots had not come from any of his men. He somehow knew that Raines had struck again.
He sat on a log before the fire, waiting for the pot of coffee to boil. Not coffee, really. But a mixture of tea and coffee and chicory. Tasted like shit, but at least it was hot.
Seemed like it was taking forever for the crap to boil.
One of the warlord’s men came and squatted down by the fire, rubbing his gloved hands together. “Reckon one of our boys got Raines, Jake?”
“Could be.”
“Hope they didn’t kill him. I wanna see how much pain Raines can take. I hate that son of a bitch.”
“Why?” Jake heard himself ask. The one-word question surprised him, leaping from his mouth. He really didn’t know why he’d asked it. Or, he mentally corrected that, didn’t want to admit why he asked it.
“Huh?” the outlaw asked, looking at Campo.
“Why do you hate Raines?”
“Wai, shit, Jake! “Cause the man is … the guy is … all he is is … Shit! I don’t know. I jist do, that’s all.”
“Don’t you, Jake?” another outlaw asked quietly.
Without taking his eyes from the just-bubbling liquid in the battered old pot, Jake said, “No. I don’t hate him. I just wish to shit all this crap was over.”
“You wanna quit, Jake?” yet another man asked.
Jake shook his big shaggy head. “No. Can’t none of us quit, and you all know why. We got to see this thing through.”
Jake leaned forward, reaching for the pot. Ben squeezed the trigger. The slug that was meant for Jake Campo struck the man squatted next to Jake, the force of the impacting bullet slamming the man forward, into the fire. His fur-lined parka caught fire, and was quickly blazing. The odor of cooked human flesh filled the air.
The camp panicked.
Ben fired again, the slug striking an outlaw in the center of the back, pitching the man into the snow, face down. Another outlaw went down, the bullet entering the left side of his head and exiting out the right, blowing brains and fluid and bits of bone out with it.
Ben hurled a grenade into the camp, the shrapnel-filled little bomb exploding next to a pickup truck that was stuck in the heavy snow. The gas tank of the truck blew, sending flames billowing in the air, adding more confusion to an already chaotic situation. Men were running awkwardly in the snow, shouting and screaming in fear and panic, slamming into each other, knocking one another down, kicking and squalling in the snowy cold of the timber.
At the sound of the first shot, Jake had thrown himself to one side, scurrying like a big crab for cover. But as the situation worsened, Jake realized that there was no cover safe from the revengeful barking of the rifle and Raines.
Then, as quickly and savagely as it had begun, the firing stopped. Jake lay behind a log, listening for some sound, any sound, of Raines leaving.
Nothing.
The damned man moves like a ghost! Jake thought.
And that thought did nothing for Jake’s mental state.
Chapter 35
Ben slipped through the green and white forest like an armed avenging ghost. He was paralleling the second team of outlaws that morning, waiting for one of them to get careless.
Finally one did.
He called out, “I’m gonna step in them woods yonder and take me a piss. I’ll catch up with ya’ll directly.”
“Don’t let it freeze off!” an outlaw called.
“Yeah,” another yelled. “You ain’t got enough dick now to do no woman no good.”
He stepped into the timber and Ben swung the heavy knife. The cold metal suddenly turned hot with gushing
